Kaelis didn't trust him at first.
She didn't trust any of them.
But after the Whispering Gate spoke to her—and after Riven proved he could do things no ordinary person should be able to do—she had little choice.
They followed him through winding alleyways, beneath the city, down into places the sun had never touched.
And there, hidden beneath layers of forgotten history, was the Ember Circle.
---
It wasn't what she expected.
No grand halls. No glowing altars.
Just a network of tunnels carved into ancient stone, lit only by floating orbs of fire that flickered like breathing embers.
People moved through the underground sanctuary—some cloaked in ash-stained robes, others training with weapons that pulsed with inner heat. Children sat in circles, eyes closed, hands outstretched toward tiny flames that danced in response to their will.
A woman stepped forward.
Tall. Severe. Eyes like smoldering coals.
"I was wondering when you'd come," she said, studying Kaelis and Riven with equal parts curiosity and caution.
Kaelis crossed her arms.
"Who are you?"
The woman smiled faintly.
"We are the last keepers of the old ways. The ones who remember."
She gestured around them.
"We are the **Ember Circle**."
---
Over the next few days, Kaelis and Riven were tested—not just for strength or skill, but for control.
Control over the **fire within**.
They learned it wasn't magic. Not exactly.
It was memory.
Power passed down through bloodlines. Echoes of those who came before.
Those who chose.
Those who fought.
Those who **burned**.
"You carry the flame," the leader—Matriarch Veyra—told them one night, as they sat around a central hearth deep within the sanctuary.
Kaelis frowned.
"What does that even mean?"
Veyra looked at her carefully.
"It means you are not the first to feel this power. And you won't be the last."
She reached out, placing a hand on Kaelis's arm.
"You are Marked. But more than that… you are chosen."
Riven stiffened.
"Chosen by who?"
Veyra's voice dropped to a whisper.
"The ones who burned so we could be free."
---
Training began in earnest.
They learned to draw fire from within—not conjure it, not summon it, but pull it from the soul itself.
Kaelis struggled at first.
Every time she tried, the flame would either burn too hot or die too fast.
Riven, however, was different.
He controlled it effortlessly.
Too effortlessly.
Even the Matriarch noticed.
"There is something in you," she murmured one evening, watching him extinguish a flame with a mere breath. "Something older than the rest of us."
Riven didn't answer.
Only looked away.
Later, Kaelis confronted him.
"You know something, don't you?"
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
"My mother used to tell me stories," he said quietly. "About two people who saved the world by choosing not to rule it."
Kaelis felt a chill.
"Talen and Vintrinx."
He met her gaze.
"She said I was born from their final breath."
---
Outside the sanctuary, the world was changing.
Reports came in from the surface—Marked awakening across the land. Some with fire. Some with wings. Others with memories they couldn't explain.
In the north, a rebellion stirred against the Council of Flame, claiming the old gods were not sealed—but merely waiting.
In the east, dragons began to appear again—not full-blooded, but half-formed, flickering between man and beast like echoes of something long buried.
And in the west…
Something darker.
Whispers of a force moving beneath the ruins of Eldenhold. Of an army being raised not of flesh—but of **memory**.
Of lost wills.
Of those who never got to choose.